


celestial bodies

by badinfluence



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Dreams, Heat Waves Inspired, Lust, M/M, Minecraft, Nightmares, Pain, Possibly Unrequited Love, Sad, Streamers - Freeform, Technology, Twitch - Freeform, dreamnotfound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:08:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28425255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badinfluence/pseuds/badinfluence
Summary: I trust my dream ,,George knows he loves Clay but he also knows he can't have him. He uses dreams as an escape."George studied the top of his computer very closely. He tried to focus his eyes anyway away from the dead center of the camera.Your mouth can tell lies. Your eyes can't.He mumbled a quick goodbye to his stream, claiming tiredness and it was early morning in the U.K. He was tired, but not physically, emotionally.I trust my Dream.Four stupid words that almost cost him everything. And stupid Alex, who wouldn’t drop it.I’m a fucking idiot. "George can't help his feelings. If he could, he would. Because feeling the way he does is just torture every day. He is in love with his best friend Dream, who embodies the characterization of a straight man perfectly.So he visits him in his dreams.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 36





	1. part 1

George studied the top of his computer very closely. He tried to focus his eyes anyway away from the dead center of the camera. 

Your mouth can tell lies. Your eyes can't. 

He mumbled a quick goodbye to his stream, claiming tiredness and it was early morning in the U.K. He was tired, but not physically, emotionally. 

_I trust my Dream._

Four stupid words that almost cost him everything. And stupid Alex, who wouldn’t drop it. 

_I’m a fucking idiot._

He desperately hoped that it would just be forgotten after his half ass explanation. But he knew they wouldn't. He figured the stans would get it trending, and Twitter guy would be writing another obituary for him. Why couldn't they ignore this one tiny, tiny fuckup? Why did they have to analyze his every move, making motives, trending topics, and overall exerting themselves into his personal life time and time again. 

He couldn't just be like Clay, who praised and pandered at every turn. He felt a pang of hostility sparking towards Clay. Everything was so easy for him. He had an obsessive and scary fanbase who believed him no matter what. He got to call George a bottom and just get away with it. He got to have his special smp in which he was just such a good actor. 

Truth be told, George had felt outcast a bit. Clay was out there with all these overlapping parallels and lore and amazing storylines. Clay exiled Tommy in George's name but that wasn't even the real reason. He just felt useless. He missed the times of last year when it was just him and Clay and Sap and Alyssa. 

He sighed. His self-reflecting time was just weighing down on him. He knew a lot of his predicament was resolved due to his own choices. He knew a lot of his behavior has not been the best sometimes. 

He knew he was manipulative. He saw how he was acting on Bad’s stream. He just couldn't help it. And he hated that Clay called him out. If anyone else did it, it wouldn't be as annoying. But George always got what we wanted. Except one thing. He couldn't have Dream. And it fucking killed him. 

He’d dream about Clay all the time, even if he was awake. But there was always just an empty blob where his face would be. He felt his fingers though. They were soft, comforting, and knew how to touch George in the right places, his collarbone, the side of his mouth, and over his heart. 

George’s heart fluttered a bit. There was no point in living in a reality that was impossible, but he couldn't help himself. He felt safe there, safe in Dream’s hands. His face hadn't mattered. It never had. All George wanted was Clay himself, his voice, his touches. 

_I am a moron._

George let his head drift off again. The sun was setting, he and Clay lay on a torn dirty white blanket upon a bed of grass. It was the perfect environment. It was everything he ever wanted. There were long weeds surrounding the hill they were on. The win blew them slightly. The wind also blew Clay’s blondish-brownish hair about, tufts flowing slightly. Clay’s slouching body towered over his slightly smaller frame. The sun was setting in front of them. 

_I wish you could see the colors properly George.  
They are so fucking beautiful.  
Yet all I want in the world is for you to see them George  
So I’ll describe them for you  
There’s pink, yellow, red, orange, purple, bits of blue  
They all blend together in such a magnificent combination thats so hard to disseminate  
So all I will say  
Is that it's not as beautiful as you _

George shook his head shamefully. Scripting fake conservations with Clay in front of a sunset was just reaching new levels of pathetic. He knew he should just move on. The obsessive world scripting was not helping him get over Clay. But he had a deep fear in the pit of his stomach, that nothing would. 

George just shook his head again. The alarm clock was showing 06:00 AM. He figured he needed to get sleep. But these past few days, only one thing was helping him get any sleep. He sighed. 

_One more time. Only once more_

He pulled the covers up. The sun wouldn't rise for another two hours. He would be safe physically from it. But now, in his mind, the sun appears. She is setting again, and Clay is holding him, tight and unconforming. 

_Hold me like this forever_

_I would never let you go_

George looks up. He sees the most alluring sight ever. Clay looked off to the sunset, determined as if this fake Clay was admandemty commanded by his desire to never let George go. Of course he was, George made him that way. George made all of this. 

None of that now

George turned his attention back to the landscape. 

_It's my last time here._

_No its not_

_How do you know that Clay_

_You will never leave me George. You will never be able to._

George huffed. He realized his fake paradise was, in fact, fake. He knew he was just shifting to a different reality, one that was entirely not real and composed of his deeper inner desires. 

_I’m not coming back_

_We’ll see_

George decided he did not want to think rationally anymore. He just wanted to exist for a singular moment, one point in time where logic and reason did not matter. He settled back down into Clay’s green hoodie. It was worn and had a million smudges. George thought that made it better. He turned his eyes to the flowing grass, then to the sunset, and then he knew what he had to do. What he always did. He entwined his hand in the back of Clay’s hair and closed his eyes slowly. The feeling of being here was overwhelming. It was addicting and enthralling and everything George wanted. His fingers memorized the texture of Clay’s hair.

 _Go to sleep now_

His fingers grazed the skin above his heart and stayed there. George sent a silent prayer, one full of longing. 

He drifted into a peaceful sleep, Clay’s hand resting above his heart. The personification of his heart above his real one. He slept all the morning through, with the touch of Clay’s fingers engraved in his mind. 

**Discord** : _7 Missed Notifications_  
**Facetime** : _5 Missed Calls from Clay :)_  
**Messages** : _3 Texts from Clay :)_


	2. part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream confronts George and George visits him again in his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some elements are going to be different than real life! Sometimes i gotta change things to work with the storyline so don't fret.

_His finger crept forward.  
He placed it slowly on George’s bottom lip, slowly tumbling down  
He then raised it to a suddenly appeared mask  
And began to tilt up-_

_Sunset. Fingers. Touch. Graze. Weeds. Grass. Sunset. Fingers. Touch Skin._

George woke with a halted breath. Fake Dream was actually going to show him his face. He definitely hadn't been thinking about it, but then again, his deepest desires manifested themselves on their own whim. 

George hadn't realized how much he wanted to see Clay’s face until now. What he looked like had not mattered. But George had a burning curiosity as well as a possessiveness spike. 

He didn't want anyone else seeing Clay’s face, only him. He wanted to be the one, the one that Clay trusted beyond anything or anyone. He wanted to boast to the world that, yes, Dream was his, and his face was engraved upon George's memory and no one else's.

_That is toxic thinking, George_

He glanced to his phone, resting delicately on his wooden bed stand. 

_What if I just never looked at it again?_

_You would never be able to handle it_

_You’d never be able to disappear_

He steadily picked it up. All the notifications from Clay laid right there in his face. An immediate amount of worry flooded his face. His first thought was to call him, but his second was the fact that it was about 03:00 AM there. 

_Okay so I will just text_  
**Hi, sorry I was just sleeping**

George set the phone back down again. A ding came back immediately. 

**Don’t you ever fucking ignore my texts like that again George**

_What the fuck, why is he so angry_

George let out a heavy sigh. This fucking prick was making him feel a certain way. He pushed it down. 

**What, do I need your permission to go lay my head down, Clay**

He waited in anticipation. He probably should apologize, or say anything else really. He shouldn’t play into Dream’s winding up tactics. 

**Yea, maybe you fucking do**

George set his phone down. Every inch of him was on fire. The hair on his arms had risen, he felt the heavy thump deep inside his body. His flesh had gone all hot, like he was the sun trapped in a snowy forest. He wasn’t excited because Clay cursed at him. He was excited and dumbfounded that he cared to such a high extent. 

_Do I risk ignoring him again?_

The answer was decided for him. 

The phone started to ring. 

He picked it up.

“Hello Dream” He said it ever so nonchalantly. 

“Call me Clay, why aren't you answering my messages?” 

His voice. It was the same as ever. His voice was probably the best one George had ever heard in his life, even non-biasly. But this time, his voice had the undercare of worry. 

“ I thought I already told you I was sleeping” 

“You’re lying to me, George, I know you are.” 

“Why are you harassing me over some innocent sleep?”

“I also know how manipulative you are George”

Clay had said the manipulative like it was the worst word he’d ever known. It came off his tongue like a snake's venomous, poisoning George straight to his heart. 

“And I, you. I got to go, Clay.”

“I know you’re keeping something from me, George. But you’ll tell me eventually, you always do. We will speak later.”

_I’ll never tell you this one_

_Wait, what did he want to tell me about that he sent that many messages?_

George had a sudden thought that he didn’t wanna know. Surprises were dangerous. With his luck, he’d fall even more. But was that even possible anymore? He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he knew he wanted Clay. It was slow and consuming, like a toxin taking its time through the veins straight up to the heart. It was gradual, with every day, he had felt it even more. Until the water was overflowing out of the cup, and he knew he could not love anymore. Because every single ounce of it was dedicated to Clay. His voice, the way he spoke, the way he always protected George, wanted him around. 

_Thinking about this is the last thing I need right now, Stop._

But could he stop? Clay consumed his every thought. He couldn’t just simply push it away. He knew he was supposed to deal with his feelings in a healthy way. 

_Okay…. So how do I do that?_

He did not have any answers for himself. No options seemed desirable other than just keep it locked away in you forever. He could never just tell Clay. Clay told him he was straight, a few times before. Though George echoed the same sentiment, he didn’t mean it. Clay was the first guy or rather person he truly liked, but all he saw of him was his minecraft avatar. George caught himself staring at the boys in the supermarket. He liked the way boys looked, he liked the defined collarbones, the strong v’s, the chests. 

He wasn’t sure if this made him “gay” or not, but he wasn't about to label himself. Instead, he would just exist, with a gigantic crush on his male best friend. 

_Labels are dumb anyways._

His phone buzzed. 

**Do you wanna provide commentary for my stream, gOgY?**

**Before you say no keep in mind you do not have a choice**

Nick’s message lied right in front of his eyes. Excuse or do it? He really did not feel like streaming today, but at least an appearance would make some of his fans content. A distraction, even, seemed necessary at this point. Also, Subpoena could lighten his mood. Though thoroughly toxic, it was done in kind of a funny way. Maybe he deserved to get shitted on for a while. 

**I’m booting up my computer dick**

George collapsed onto his bed, spread in eagle position. He had pictured himself like Spiderman, launching off a building looking up to the sky, about to web in and save the day. Unfortunately, George did not have any superpowers nor was he bit by any kind of radiant spider. He was just George, some English white kid who couldn't see colors correctly. 

_sigh_

He had spent a large portion of the day messing around with Nick. After a couple of hours, he had ended the stream, and they just hung out on Hypixel. Bedwars was incredibly addicting. 

Then he decided to clean up his room a bit. It wasn't messy, per say, but it wasn't the cleanest it could be. He needed to take control of at least one thing in his life, because it wasn't working too well in the emotions and feelings department. 

He glanced towards his window. 

_Fuck_

The sun was setting. 

_I don’t want to, please._

_But you have to_

George rested his eyes. He opened them to a grassy hill, on a torn white blanket, surrounded by tall grass and weeds. 

_I’m weak_

A hand placed itself on his shoulder. 

_I wouldn’t say that_  
George let himself look up. The mask made a reappearance. It was slightly more comforting than the skin-mashed blob. His hair still flowed slightly in the wind. His green jacket was still smudged and worn. He was perfect. 

_I shouldn’t be here_

_Who’s to say we are supposed to be anywhere?_

Clay’s eyes faded to the sunset. George wished he could see it through his eyes, the vibrant and energetic blend of colors that fades in and out together that you didn't know the start to end from the end to the start.

_What moment of history do you wish you could have experienced, Dream?_

Dream looked down on him with such confidence it might have scared him. 

_The burning of the Library of Alexandria_

_What? Do you mean like yo wished you could of read the books or something_

Dream sighed into the wind.

_No, no I don’t_

_Hm?_

_I just wanna watch it. Imagine how great that fire would be? Imagine smelling that smoke in the air? Imagine feeling the heat of it burn against your skin, the lost time traveler seeing the amount of human history deleted and erased? Imagine watching the flesh of the lost knowledge burn, imagine how powerless you’d feel. It’s a Greek Tragedy, Shakespeare couldn't have written it better. Imagine feeling so powerless surveying the scene depicting the destruction of history. It’s straight out of a Sophocles._

George let a moment pass. 

_I think you are way too invested in your roleplay character, Dream. No one normal thinks like that._

_Don’t you though? Do you think not expressing your feelings is going to end in anything good in the friendship between you and Clay?_

_My favorite tragedy to watch is you, George._

_You’re just in my head. You aren’t real._

_I’m real, George. I am realer than you will ever be. Now be quiet. Let’s just watch the sunset._

Knowing he shouldn’t, he snuggled deeper into Dream’s green jacket. It smelled like gunpowder, wet log, and a hyacinth. 

They stayed there for a while. George wanted to pull himself away, break the dependency line. But he couldn't. He was coming to the terms he would never be able to. He could never have Clay.

But he could have this. 

_I have to go back_

_I know_

_I’ll be back_

_I know you will_

George woke up. His face was an indescribable image of pure pain. The sun was touching the tips of the sky, full of fire and light. This way might be torture, but it was better than the alternative. He could just tell clay the truth, and risk losing him forever, a risk he would never take. 

So, torture it’’ll be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its like 2 am so its going to be choppy, essentially im posting this story as a rough draft and if people like it enough, I will do a hard edit. 
> 
> please comment any sort of critique or just anything! it helps me garner interest level


End file.
